


Black and White

by Danii_Girl



Series: Black and White [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 5 Seconds of Summer - Freeform, 5SOS - Freeform, Completed, F/M, Michael Clifford - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 08:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14849246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danii_Girl/pseuds/Danii_Girl
Summary: Originally posted on my tumblr cliffordchick.Black is a pronominate color in your relationship with Michael.





	1. Black

**Black** was the color of the nails clicking away at the keyboard. Michael could tell they were freshly painted, not one chip evident. The dim lighting of the coffee shop reflected off the glossy finish. You were busy, typing away at a speed that forced Michael to look up from his own sketchbook. He watched as your brows furrowed, your index finger bashing the backspace key with such a speed that Michael couldn’t help but chuckle. Soon, Michael’s curiosity got the best of him. He shut his sketchbook, tucking it under his arm as his feet carried him the short distance from his table to yours. With amusement in his eyes, he reached out his hand placing it on the keyboard halting your rapid fingers. “I couldn’t help but notice your skillful typing. Have you ever played video games before?” he asked, the corner of his lips twitching. “I’m Michael.” 

**Black** was the color of the Xbox controller thrust into your hands. You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up at Michael’s apartment only a few short hours after meeting him. Or why you were sinking into a beanbag with an Xbox controller in your hand when you should have been working on the next chapter of your book. You didn’t have time to think, though, because the minute Michael’s butt sank into the opposite bean bag, he was resuming the came and you were forced to click random buttons on the controller just to stay alive. One game turned in to two, which turned in to three until eventually, Michael got bored of winning and took you out to see a movie. The first movie date of many. 

**Black** was the color of the cat Michael and you managed to rescue on your third date. He had shown up at your doorstep on Wednesday night after his shift with the same look of amusement he had when you first met. It really wasn’t weird for Michael to show up at your doorstep on Wednesdays. In fact, Wednesdays quickly became your date night when Michael learned you didn’t have class on Thursday. No, the weirdest thing was that a bowling ball bag was lying forgotten by his feet as he cradled a fragile, frightened cat in his large arms. 

“Is that a cat?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I found him hiding under my truck at the shop tonight,” Michael said, carefully petting the cat. “I named him Midnight.” 

“He’s cute,” you cooed, stepping towards Michael. Midnight looked up at you, his gold eyes sparkling in the moonlight. You scratched between Midnight’s ears before tilting his head up and scratching his chin. 

“I was gonna take you bowling tonight but I couldn’t just leave him there to die,” Michael said. “Do you mind if we go to the pet store instead? I figured I’d make him the new mascot of the shop.” 

“Is it sanitary to have a cat roaming around a tattoo shop?” you asked, zipping up your coat before stepping out of your apartment. You locked the door before taking Michael’s free hand and intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Probably not.” 

Michael, Midnight, and you made your way over to the parking lot. You climbed into Michael’s truck before he handed you Midnight, the cat snuggling into your lap. His purrs mixed with the bass line of whatever CD Michael had been listening to before he showed up at your apartment. 

“I guess I’ll keep him in my apartment above the shop then,” Michael said, absentmindedly. 

Though Michael trusted his instincts about lots of things, choosing the proper pet food was not one of those things. Which is how the two of you ended up spending over an hour in the store, perusing the cat food aisles and making sure to read every ingredient. Midnight had made himself at home in the cart as soon as Michael tossed the Darth Vader dog bed into the cart. 

“I think he’d like it better there than the shop,” you agreed. “I’ll even come to visit if you want.” 

“Oh, so you’ll visit Midnight but not me,” he pouted. 

“Awe is my poor baby jealous?” you teased, pecking his cheek. “You’re going to have to share me now.” 

“Only for Midnight.” 

“Only with Midnight,” you smiled. 

**Black** was the color of the dress you’d worn to your six-month anniversary date. It was also the same dress that ended up in a tangled mess on Michael’s bedroom floor when you stumbled there later that night. Though the intricate lace and silk pattern wasn’t a total waste, Midnight seemed to enjoy it making a bed out of it quickly. You would have scolded the cat but your mind was preoccupied, too distracted by Michael’s lips trailing over your rather bare body. His hands worked at the clasp of your bra while his lips continued their assault. Timid “I love you’s” and whimpers of ecstasy filled the small room until Michael collapsed next to you, the both of you panting, the world spinning around you. Michael had never felt this way about anyone before and he hoped, god he prayed that you were as crazy about him as he was about you. 

**Black** was the color of the leather tattoo chair your nails were digging into. Somehow Michael had convinced you to let him mark up your body with ink more permanent than the purple love bites he was used to leaving behind. And for some reason, you agreed. Maybe because you loved and trusted Michael with all your heart or maybe because when you were around him your head got fuzzy and you lost all of your impulse control. Regardless, you were laying on the chair, your shirt the only thing covering your exposed body from the other artists in the shop as Michael repeatedly etched words into your side. After what felt like hours of pain (Michael swore it was only 20 minutes) you finally got to see the finished product. The words “to the moon and back” jumping off your skin in a way that made you smile. Now, you’d always have a piece of Michael with you. 

**Black** was the color of his charcoal stained hands. The sound of Michael’s pencil scratching the page in the sketchbook was a gentle reminder of the boy you’d met not that long ago at the coffee shop. The sound used to be your lullaby, pulling you away from reality and into Michael’s world of visual art and passion. But now, it was a blatant reminder that you had to share Michael with the shop below his apartment. Sure, you were happy his talent was being recognized but you never thought his success would come at the cost of your relationship. “Can’t you stop working for a minute to come cuddle Midnight and me?” you had asked, the words sounding more hostile than you had intended. Instead of dropping everything to jump on you like he’d done so many times in the best, he simply grumbled about having an appointment in five minutes. And just like that Midnight and you were left alone in Michael’s apartment, the faint sound of Michael’s footsteps mixing with the whines from Midnight. “At least I have you Midnight,” you smiled, tapping his head.

 **Black** was the color of the candle’s wick. It once held embers of orange, the flame sending the vanilla scent into the apartment, but after an hour of burning the scent was stale. The wick’s blacked color was a reminder that Michael had never shown up. He hadn’t come up to let you know he was running late on hid appointments nor had he sent a simple text message. Nothing. Instead, an hour and a five minutes after you were supposed to have dinner you marched down the stairs and into the empty tattoo shop. You didn’t find Michael working instead, you found him lounging on the leather couch in the waiting area, a random episode of Game of Thrones playing while he and the other artists chatted. All it took was one glance in your direction for Michael to realize he had fucked something up. He followed behind as you stalked up the stairs, nearly getting the door slammed in his face when he reached the top. And he tried to apologize, he really did, but there wasn’t an apology worthy enough of him missing dinner. “You favor them over me now,” you mumbled, before retreating into the bedroom with Midnight in tow. And just like that, the once ignited flames between the two of you was slowly simmering. The spark slowly starting to fade. 

**Black** was the color of the mascara running down your cheeks. You couldn’t do it anymore. You couldn’t stand having to spend another night in the apartment alone, Michael too preoccupied with perfecting the morning client’s sketch. You didn’t want to listen to him complain about how much his back hurt from hunching over his human canvases all day. And you couldn’t stomach another one of his promises to tattoo your favorite flower on your neck when your neck continued to be bare after three months of asking. You couldn’t be with Michael no matter how much your heart wanted you to be, you couldn’t. This time it was your turn at half-hearted promises. Your turn to leave Michael wanting more. With one final glance, you turned your back to Michael (and Midnight), wiping your eyes free of tears before tracking down the steps and into the shop. You never looked back. 

**Black** was the color of the asphalt scorching Michael’s feet as he chased after Midnight. It had been three weeks since you moved out and thought you’d told Michael a hundred times to close the front door when he went down to throw out the trash, he always forgot. Without you there to corral Midnight before he wandered too far, Midnight got out and before Michael knew it his timid cat was chasing a bird down the sidewalk. Michael chased after him, the heat under his feet a far cry from the pain he’s felt in his heart over the last few weeks. “Dammit, Midnight!” Michael cursed, closing in on the cat. “I can’t lose you too!” Midnight stopped, turning to look at Michael who had fallen to his knees in the middle of the sidewalk. Without any warning, Midnight jumped on Michael’s back purring loudly. It was as if he remembered when Michael had saved him and now it was Midnight’s turn to save him.

 **Black** was the color of the small piano Michael had managed to shove into his tiny apartment. It wasn’t new, the keys were worn and the black varnish was chipping but that only made Michael love it more. It reminded him of himself, a little worn and rough around the edges but still good. Every night he’d come home from a long day of tattooing and find himself hunched over the ivory keys, his fingers dancing across the chords until his eyes were heavy and his stomach was growling. Lately, Michael had begun to keep a notebook nearby, scrawling in lyrics and notes as he came up with them. The random lyrics and notes soon became a song. The sounds of chords mixing with the rasp in his voice became his escape. Every night Michael tried to get through the song without crying and every night Midnight ended up in a ball on his lap as his body heaved with every word sung. Tonight though was the worse he’s been in a while, the wedding invitation he had received in the mail torn in half at his feet as he began to play. “Every fire I’ve ignited faded to grey,” Michael sang before the sobs started, making it only through the first verse before he broke down. 

**Black** was the color of the tux that clung to Michael’s body. The pants were too tight, the fabric stretching across his thighs in a way that made it hard for him to walk in. The jacket was no better, the sleeves barely reaching his forearms. And the shirt, well, the shirt exposed his soft stomach whenever he reached his hands above his head – which he did a lot. The outfit was a mess, but the boy inside was even messier. 

“I can’t do this,” he mumbled, eyes brimming with tears as he looks at his mother. “I can’t see Y/N marry someone that’s not me.” 

“You have to,” she said, patting her son’s hand. “It didn’t work out between the two of you. You have to let Y/N be happy.” 

Michael knew his mom was right, but it didn’t make his heart hurt any less. It didn’t stop his chest from heaving when you appeared at the staircase, the ivory lace clinging to your body in all the right places. The fabric sheer enough that he could see the saying he had tattooed on you all those years ago. Your father was next to you, ushering you down the staircase as the pianist played your favorite song. Michael was okay until he caught a glimpse of your neck, a delicate lily drawn into your once unmarked skin. A piece of art that wasn’t his, a reminder of the promises he had broken. 

That should be me Michael thought when you exchanged your vows, your voice just barely getting through the written words before you started to cry. Michael winced when the rings were exchanged, cursing himself for not offering you the ring that sat purposeless in a drawer at his desk back in the apartment. And when it came time for the kiss, he looked away not wanting to bear witness to the commitment you had just made to someone that wasn’t him. 

Michael didn’t stand when you walked down the aisle as a married woman; instead, he sat in the pews, eyes closed so tight everything went **Black**.


	2. White

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on my tumblr cliffordchick. 
> 
> White is a prominant color in your relationship with Michael.

**White** was the color of the lilies sewn together into a crown that sat on her head. She adjusted it before taking her husband’s hand and rising from the table they sat behind. They began to make their way across the wedding reception, thanking everyone for coming individually. As she approached the final table in the back of the room, her heartbeat began to pick up. She tried to ignore the feeling and she was doing a good job until she got to him. He was already standing, waiting for his mother to collect her things so they could leave — but she wasn’t fast enough.”Thanks for coming,” her husband said, shaking Michael’s hand in the process. Michael nodded slightly before glancing at her. She smiled, placing her hand on his bicep. “Yeah, thanks for coming…it means a lot.” Her hand lingered on his bicep as she addressed his mother. Even when her hand was no longer there, Michael felt it.

 **White** was the color of the pencil that sat in Michael’s hand. He was sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for his neck client to show up. In the meantime, he was busy coloring in a design he drew the night before. “Lilies again?” Calum asked. “If you want me to get you lilies just tell me,” he teased, shoving Michael’s shoulder. Michael flipped him off before returning his gaze to his sketchbook. He began flipping through the pages. Lily…lily…bouquet of lilies…skull with lilies behind it. Shit. Michael hadn’t even noticed it. She was back in his head again — not like she had ever left. Michael tore the page he was working on out of his sketchbook. He tore another, and another, and another until all the sketches of lilies sat at his feet. Torn up and forgotten, just like how she left him.

 **White** was the color Michael’s face turned when he overheard Calum talking with his client. Michael was used to clients running their mouths as they got stabbed repeatedly by the buzzing, tattoo gun. He had heard lots of wild stories and confessions in his time hunched over people’s bodies on the black leather chair. And he had told his own fair share of crazy stories to unsuspecting clients. Tattooing was cathartic like that — a therapy session where the end product was a piece of artwork instead of tears. But nothing could have prepared Michael for the confession he had stumbled into as he was walking into the shop. “It’s only been three weeks, can you believe that? The ass didn’t even have the decency to wait a few years before fucking around!” He knew right away who she was talking about. Sure, she could have been talking about anybody but Michael recognized that voice all too well. “Maddie?” Michael asked, walking over to Calum’s station. She glanced wide-eyed at Michael. “Aw fuck, you weren’t supposed to hear that.”

 **White** was the color of the plates she threw to the floor, the broken porcelain pieces littering the kitchen floor. He stood their dumbfounded watching her reach back into the cupboard only to slam another plate to the ground.

“Those were wedding gifts!” he shouted. He lunged towards her trying to get the plate free from her hands.

“Oh, so now you care about our marriage! ” She threw another plate to the ground, the broken shards landed near his bare feet. “Guess you should have thought about the plates before you brought that woman into our home.”

His face grew red; though, she wasn’t sure if it was from anger or embarrassment. He took a deep breath before approaching her again. She stepped back, reaching back into the cupboard for another plate. She held it above her head, warning him not to take another step closer to her.

“Baby, come on,” he whined. “It was a mistake.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. “A mistake is putting laundry detergent in the dishwasher or turning the laundry pink. Cheating on me wasn’t a mistake, it was a choice.” She threw the plate down before reaching for the ring on her finger. She glanced at it before hastily tugging it off her finger and throwing it at his face. “The stupidest fucking choice you could have ever made.”

 **White** was the color of the clouds chasing Michael as he drove to the park. He didn’t even realize where he was going when he got into the car until he made a right hand turn. It was like his body was on autopilot while his mind raced with thoughts. What if she’s not even here? What if she doesn’t even want to see me? All his doubts faded when he spotted her. She was sitting on the bench, her bench, with her head pointed up at the sky. Michael approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her or upset her any further. He sat down next to her wordlessly and mirrored her body, letting his own eyes trail up to look at the clouds in the sky. They stayed like that for a moment, both of them aware of each other’s presence but too scared to acknowledge each other. Michael held his breathe as he reached his hand out to where her’s sat on her lap. His fingers barely grazing over hers before they interlocked with each other. He squeezed her hand, hoping to convey I’m here for you without using his words. She squeezed a silent I know back to him. 

**White** was the color of the sheet Michael draped on her and Midnight’s sleeping bodies at his place later that night. She had insisted on sleeping on the couch, not wanting to intrude on Michael’s personal space. Of course, Michael tried to argue with her but she always was a stubborn one. He figured letting her sleep on the couch was better than letting her walk out of his place and his life again. And so she slept on the couch that night with Midnight curled up on her chest. She stayed the next night on the couch too…and the next night and the next night until eventually she abandoned the couch for the comfort of Michael’s bed. That night, Michael barely slept, too afraid he was going to reach for her in his sleep and mess everything up, again.

 **White** was the color of the mugs Michael and her held in their hands. She had been living at Michael’s place for two months now and they had fallen into a routine of sorts. In the mornings they’d share a pot of coffee while Midnight meowed at their feet for his own breakfast. Then, they’d each go to work before reconvening at night for whatever takeout option Michael had picked up for them. Their relationship was still complicated and awkward. She was technically still married and Michael was too afraid of fucking things up to take her out on a proper date. Neither of them brought up the “what are we conversation” so they never talked about it. They were content being whatever it was they were as long as they were together.

 **White** was the color of the envelope she stuffed her signed divorce paper in. She was sitting at Michael’s small coffee table, Midnight curled into her lap. She felt weird — like she was supposed to be sad but she couldn’t bring herself to cry or feel anything but joy. She was free. Free to live her life without the fear of walking in on her husband cheating on her, free to move on, free to fall in love with someone else…

“What are you doing?” Michael asked. He was wearing only his boxers as he made his way over to the coffee pot. It was clear from his mess of hair that he had just woken up.

She smiled up at him from where she sat. “I just signed my divorce papers.”

Michael looked at her trying to gauge her emotions. She always was difficult to read, it’s one of the reasons Michael fell for her. Her mind was a game he never could figure out.

“Yeah? How do you feel?”

“Like a free woman,” she laughed, petting Midnight’s head. “It’s weird, divorce is supposed to be a sad thing but I just feel relieved.”

Michael smiled at her. She was right, she looked relieved. It was the happiest she looked in a long time. Michael wanted to remember the way she looked in this moment for the rest of his life.

“So, what’s the first thing you want to do now that you’re a free woman?”

She pondered his question for a moment before her face broke out into a smile. She picked Midnight up from her lap, placing him on the ground before she rose from her chair. She walked over to where Michael was standing. “I want to kiss you.”

Michael was caught off guard. He was definitely not expecting that. Though, he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t secretly hoping that’s what she wanted to do. “Are you sure?” he asked, placing his cup of coffee on the counter. “Because like I don’t want to ruin whatever it is we have going on here and I —“

His words were cut off by her lips. His legs weakened, his body forced to use the kitchen counter for support. The kiss was short and sweet, more of a peck than a kiss but it was exactly what Michael needed it. Exactly what she needed.

 **White** was the color of the socks Michael threw at her face. They had just finished rearranging Michael’s small living room so that the furniture was pushed up against the wall giving them enough room to play Just Dance. “You’re going down Clifford,” she joked, tugging the socks on her feet. Michael shook his head, “You wish.” They danced around for what felt like hours. Their bodies moving in ways neither of them thought was humanly possible, arms flailing in the air like they were trying to take flight. They spent more time laughing at each other than they did actually dancing which left no clear winner at the end of the hour-long gameplay. “Our wedding dance is going to be a disaster,” Michael laughed. He sat on the floor, trying to catch his breath as Y/N started another song. “Maybe, but it’ll be our beautiful disaster.” 

**White** was the color of the house Michael carried his Y/N into. The two of them had stumbled upon it one day as they were aimlessly driving through the neighborhood. Y/N fell in love with it at first sight. In fact, she made Michael stop the car so that she could go knock on the door to see if anyone could give them a tour. An elderly woman had opened the door and with enough begging, she let Michael and Y/N enter her house. She gave them their own private tour of the home she had lived in for the last 30 years. She reminisced about all the memories the house held for her and expressed her wish that the next family who moved in would love it as much as she did. They put in an offer the next day and within the hour the house was theirs. The woman was getting her wish and Michael and Y/N were finally getting a home to call their own.

Nothing was ever **white** again once their family started to grow. The white carpet instantly turned black thanks to Midnight constantly rolling around on it. Michael’s white shirts were permanently stained with throw up and baby food from Jade. And the once white door frames were now home to height measurements for Ryder and Quinn. Sure, nothing was ever stain-free or clean again but they wouldn’t trade their lives for anything. They had turned the little white house into a home. Each stain, scuff, and scribble held a memory and told a story. The story of Michael and Y/N and their rambunctious three kids, plus Midnight who by some miracle was still around.

 **White** was the color of the candles Michael situated around the bathtub. He wanted to surprise Y/N, knowing that she would be sad since it was the first night none of the kids would be sleeping under the same roof. Ryder and Quinn were away at college, making both their parents proud while Jade was spending the night at her best friends house. When she walked into the bathroom she nearly burst into tears. The candles were all lit by then, a box of chocolate sitting by the tub while the television that hung above the tub was already signed into Netflix. “You didn’t think I could be romantic anymore did you?” Michael asked, bumping his hip into hers. She smiled at him before leaning in for a kiss. “You know, last time you pulled one of your romantic bathtub dates we ended up with Jade,” she teased. Michael laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Nope, this baby factory is shut down! But that doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun,” she winked.

 **White** was the color their hair turned as the years passed. It happened gradually and yet all at once. It was like one moment they were standing in the small apartment above the tattoo shop nervous and unsure about their future together and the next moment they were watching all their wildest dreams come true. Like one moment they were watching Ryder graduate medical school at the top of his class and the next moment they were sending him off to work with doctors without borders. The same was true for Quinn who followed in Michael’s footsteps and took over Michael’s tattoo shop, becoming the most sought-after tattoo artist in the state. And then there was their wild child Jade who they saw finally settle down with a wife and kids of her own. Seeing their children succeed and be happy was their greatest achievement. Their second greatest achievement was their marriage. “You know,” Michael said one day as they sat in the old tattoo shop watching Quinn work, “we never thanked Frank for cheating on you all those years ago.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “I mean, if he hadn’t have cheated on you, we never would have created this amazing life together.” She laughed, “I would have found you no matter what.” And she was right, despite all they’d been through and all the crazy things life threw at them they always found and chose each other. Even as their hair grew white and their bodies slowed, they still choose to love each other. And they still looked at each other the same way they did all those years ago when Michael first spotted her in that coffee shop.

 **White** was the color of the lilies that sat next to her urn on their mantle. Today would have been Y/N’s 85th birthday and Michael had no doubt that she still would have looked as beautiful and perfect as she did on her 35th birthday. Everyone was gathered in the same living room they had spent every holiday and birthday together in. Ryder and Quinn were arguing about how Quinn cheated on a game of Mario Kart ages ago, while Jade sat near Michael holding her newest grandchild, Michael’s great-grandchild. It was like everything was the same and yet it was so different. Michael would give anything to have Y/N sitting next to him but he knew she was out there watching them. Shaking her head at the new stain on the white carpet from where Lily, the newest family member, threw up last week. Or laughing at Ryder and Quinn’s twin rivalry that was still going strong, 50 years later. Michael smiled at the family he had helped create. He rose from his chair, slowly before walking over to where her urn and picture sat. “I think we did a good job, my love,” he said, blowing a kiss to the frame. “I can’t wait to see you again one day in front of those pearly **white** gates. I know you’ll be running the place by then.”


End file.
